


Hindsight Is the Strongest Prescription

by jicamasticks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Or is it?), Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Flashbacks, Galaxy Garrison, Gen, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Canon, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15441831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jicamasticks/pseuds/jicamasticks
Summary: Lance would have watched him even if “Kogane” hadn't wound up directly before “McClain.” Everyone was itching to fly, but this Kogane kid—with shaggy black hair and a standoffish attitude—lacked the nerves accompanying the others' excitement. His eyes were trained steady on the sky without a single bitten cheek or tapping fingers or anxious chatter—none of it.All of which Lance had in spades.





	Hindsight Is the Strongest Prescription

**Author's Note:**

> this was relatively canon compliant until s7 spoilers started circulating. originally, i wanted to wait and post it all as a one-shot, but between my slow progress and the knowledge that the show will tear this script to shreds in a matter of weeks, i decided to post what i can now ^_^;
> 
> big shout-out to tumblr user cool-dad-squad who listened to me bitch about this fic for... months? bless her patient heart <3

Lance screamed.

Or, at least, he was pretty sure he screamed. The end of it basically devolved into a verbal keyboard smash.

“Uh...?”

Lance whirled, realizing with the weight of an anvil that Keith was staring at him. Which, in all fairness, Lance would stare, too, if his teammate suddenly looked like he'd been hit by a train. Which, again in all fairness, was exactly how Lance felt.

Chests heaving from exertion, they stood, paused in the middle of a sparring session, practice swords in hand. Lance's jaw was as indecisive as that of a fish, opening and closing before finally spitting out, “Did—did I say something? Like, just now, did I literally say something?”

His throat felt so dry—he barely felt capable of talking, but his mouth had surprised him before.

Keith's brow furrowed as he answered, “Not... really? I taunted you, and you—you just made this weird, garbled shriek and froze in place. Like—like a dinosaur, or something. Kinda shrill. It was... really bizarre, even for you. Are—are you okay?” He stepped forward, lowering his sword as he peered closer.

Lance stepped back.

“Fine! Actually—I just—I need a shower. Bad. Caught a whiff of myself and it was, uh, bad, y'know?” He tried laughing, but it came out shaky. He took a few retreating steps as Keith tilted his head, face scrunching.

“I guess?”

“ _Great!_ Awesome! _Bye!_ ” Lance yelped, skedaddling like a bat out of hell.

 

* * *

 

Safely in his room, Lance paced, brain working overtime as he sorted through the five 'W's of his predicament.

Who?

_Keith._

What?

_I think I like him. Oh my god, I think I_ like _him._

When?

_I don't know? Now? No, earlier—had to be. How much earlier? Oh my god, how long have I liked him and not even known?_

Where?

_See, the 'when' portion would really help me figure this part out._

Why?

_I don't know? I just—I had this weirdly strong urge to be... affectionate, I guess? Like, he gave me this look, like, with his eyes, and there was this glint in them, and he was grinning, and I just... wanted to kiss him? Like, just a peck, but oh my god, I wanted to kiss him. I_ really _wanted to kiss him._

_I still want to kiss him._

Lance collapsed on the floor, limbs spread wide as his eyes glued themselves to the ceiling where all he saw was Keith. The other paladin was even painted on the backs of his eyelids. His exhausted mind was on repeat, replaying a track of Keith's sharp smirk coupled with blunt words over and over and over.

_Just... when the hell did I fall for that jerk, anyway?_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Keith garnered Lance's attention at their first Galaxy Garrison flight test.

Lance would have watched him even if “Kogane” hadn't wound up directly before “McClain.” Everyone was itching to fly, but this Kogane kid—with shaggy black hair and a standoffish attitude—lacked the nerves accompanying the others' excitement. His eyes were trained steady on the sky without a single bitten cheek or tapping fingers or anxious chatter—none of it.

All of which Lance had in spades.

He kept licking his lips—a bad habit his _mami_ spent months weeding out of his system, but the air was so _dry_. And while the crisp orange uniforms were fairly light, the sun was still out at full force in the otherwise empty sky.

The instructor barked at them by their surnames one by one to pilot the aerial craft in front of them. Having just returned from their introductory flight course over the summer, it seemed a little extreme to Lance's parents for fifteen year-olds to already be at the joystick of a jet, but his parents weren't here and emergency pilots in the nearby control towers could override a struggling student's command to remotely return them to safety if need be.

That would have to be enough.

The ordeal still had his gut roiling in anticipation.

Kogane, though—even when the instructor eventually called him up to the plate—he was entirely unfazed. Only the light breeze ruffled his bangs from his eyes, determination set in his jaw.

He looked... _cool_ _._

Lance wanted to be annoyed, but he found himself intrigued instead. This guy acted as if he had flown before even though their summer class only practiced simulations. Students who scored highly on the simulator were eager to prove their stuff, but Kogane lacked that jittery energy—he just wanted to fly.

And when Kogane jumped in the cockpit and launched into the sky, pulling from gravity's insistent tug, Lance felt his own stomach soar with him, flipping in his gut and kicking his heart into his throat. Each dive and glide fell into place as naturally as an elegant music score, steadily striking notes that built melodies and harmonies upon the clear blue backdrop.

Lance had never seen a more beautiful definition of freedom in his life.

But unlike the boy that flew in arcs and dips and loops with an uncanny grace, Lance had clammy palms and a tongue that knew it talked too big for its mouth.

Breath only returned to Lance’s lungs when the jet returned to Earth. Kogane exited the plane, and Lance found his eyes catching on the way the sunlight hit his cheeks, curving and falling on an exhilarated smile that hesitated to leave the craft.

“McClain!”

Lance jumped at the instructor's voice, nearly forgetting he was next. He hurried forward through the throng of students. Following that display would be no easy feat, but Lance was by no means a terrible pilot. He was sure he could hold his own, whether he was following boy wonder or not.

The cockpit was cramped as he squeezed inside, the leather seat squeaking slightly as he settled in, grin shaking in the face of his nerves. Gripping the joystick, he awaited instructions from Mr. Harris at ground control. He would receive simple orders that he was to follow to the best of his ability.

_But Kogane clearly didn’t follow instructions by the book..._

“McClain, you're clear for take-off.”

Breathing deep to appease his rapidly beating heart, Lance began the exam.

His sweaty palms got the better of him, and he made a few easy mistakes as the craft climbed into the air, all the more dangerous the higher he flew. The simulator was similar, but the _speed_... 300 knots felt a lot faster in the sky.

Even as his grin grew, the shaking in his hands remained, stuttering his maneuvers. Focusing on his execution was difficult as Lance kept thinking about the performance before his own. More than once, he remembered a particular swoop and decided there was no time like the present to give it a go, whooping as he whirled. Because despite how often he dreamed of flying (i.e. his whole life), it had been years since he felt so _inspired_.

He didn’t intend to ignore Mr. Harris, but getting caught up in the freedom of flying was so _easy_.

Up in the air, he felt like the sky held forever.

It ended quickly.

Touching land with jittery wheels, Lance knew he hadn't flown his best, especially with the varied first attempts at stunts well above his skill level. Thankfully, Mr. Harris didn't comment on his mistakes.

Still, aside from his buzzing nerves, an elation ballooned in his chest from the rush of flying high. Besides, the results wouldn't be posted for a few days yet—nothing he could do about it now. (That line of reasoning didn't quite vanquish his anxiety, but he pushed it to the back-burner, mentally insistent that everything would work out fine. He focused on the adrenaline sputtering in his veins—that helped.)

Vacating the jet, he found himself surveying the crowd of students for a certain mop of black hair.

Air abruptly filled his lungs when he found it, alighting a grin that formed halfway before he realized the boy was talking animatedly with an older student. He didn't recognize the newcomer from this distance, but given how deep in conversation they seemed, they'd been talking for a while now. He hadn't even noticed Lance fly for a moment.

Chest deflating, the grin dropped from Lance's face, a sour pit of disappointment sinking in his gut.

Despite the acidic twang at the back of his throat, he squeezed through the crowd toward his goal, stopped once or twice by a few other nervous souls asking how it went.

“Just like the simulator!” Lance laughed off with a pat on their shoulder, both eager to provide some sense of comfort and shake off the niceties as quickly as he could.

Kogane was right up ahead—Lance could just barely see his face past the older student's broad shoulders, who actually felt somewhat familiar. Lance just couldn't place why.

No matter, he was almost there, a compliment on the tip of his tongue—

“—flew well, Keith. I'm proud.”

_Oh, his name is Keith._

“I would've been a wreck if you hadn't let me fly with you. The simulator is nothing compared to the real thing,” Kogane— _Keith—_ said.

“Anytime,” the senior student promised, following with a short farewell as he disappeared in the crowd.

It struck Lance... wrong.

Still, he pushed past all his wrong feelings and called out, “Hey, good job, man!”

Except he pushed too hard and wound up running into the guy instead, an abrupt collision that ended with Keith shoving back against his chest and ensuring that distance with an icy glare that stopped Lance cold.

“Watch it,” Keith snapped.

Lance was too shocked to argue as Keith walked away, the scenario a complete 180 from how he intended. In his head, he would compliment the guy on his flying, they'd start small talk over classes, bitch about the teachers, and be well on their way to becoming friends. Somehow, his planned interaction took a southern nosedive before it even started, a hollow ache in place of the blooming friendship he expected.

The ache was just jealousy, he told himself as he left the scene; jealousy over Keith's exceptional flying, due to securing special attention from potential mentors—favoritism, apparently before they even had the first flight test.

Once Lance proved himself, the hurt would go away.

 

* * *

 

Inspiration was all well and good, but it did not reflect well on Lance's flight test. He managed to keep the grim reality at bay for a while, but eventually, an instructor acting as his advisor pulled him into her office, displaying the results of his academic career to pore over in detail. Lance’s stomach sunk as he took in his overwhelmingly average scores. He had been in the academy for a full year at that point, which was generally when students were designated to more specific programs.

“Your recent scores in the flight test were...”

“Lacking?” Lance supplied with downcast eyes.

“...below the requirement for the fighter class program, which has limited seats to begin with. Well, we can't all be Kogane,” she said with a dismissive hand gesture. “I know your heart was set on being a pilot when you arrived, Lance. Is that still the case? There are a number of other potential directions, and your grades are average overall. If you applied yourself to another course of study, I have no doubt you'd succeed. Shall we take a look?”

“I... I still want to be a pilot.”

“You're sure? You don't even want to look?”

“I want to fly,” he near-whispered.

His advisor was silent for a moment. Lance couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. Gravity felt heavier, suddenly.

“...I see. Then, since the fighter class program is off the table at this time, we can enroll you in the cargo pilot program. Several courses will overlap with the fighter class, so you may try again to enter the fighter pilot program at the next flight test. If you don't succeed in entering the fighter class at that point, you won't have another opportunity to advance. The majority of your other courses will include the general subjects for now—the program for cargo pilots isn't tailored as early on as the other classes. This is because—Lance? Lance, are you all right?”

Lance could barely hear her, much less answer, as his world had been harshly condensed to the nails digging sharp into his palms and the stinging heat flooding his vision.

 

* * *

 

Lance blamed Keith.

Keith, who made him look bad with his fancy aerial acrobatics—the _show-off_ —and didn't even watch the remaining students—didn't watch _Lance—_ and what kind of model student didn't show moral support for their peers, choosing to befriend older students over those in his own class and sneak unfair flying lessons? (What kind of person could ignore Lance's eyes trained on him, vibes a continuous _notice me look at me see me?_ )

_What an asshole_ , Lance thought, eyebrows digging bitter corners into his forehead. _He thinks he's too good for everyone else?_ ( _Too good for me_ , his heart betrayed.)

_I'll show him—I'll beat that asshole if it's the last thing I do. Then he'll watch me._

_Then he won't take his eyes off me._

 

* * *

 

Declaring himself as Keith's rival was one thing. Informing Keith of this development was another. Currently, the only other student aware of this occurrence was Lance's closest friend and raddest roommate, Hunk.

Hunk, the brilliant engineering student that he was, found himself perplexed at Lance's abrupt shift in attitude. The two had lived together for a year now, and although Lance could be a bundle of energy, this intense focus on Keith— _ahem_ , his _grades_ —was new.

“So... what is it you're doing again?” Hunk ventured.

Humming lightly to himself, Lance continued facing the concrete wall as he decorated it with hastily scrawled flashcards in blue ballpoint. Absently, Hunk wondered if there was any sense of organization, or if Lance's mania propelled him past that step without a second thought.

“Lance, dude, I know the flight test didn't go well, but how are algebra flashcards going to help?”

“Hunk,” Lance said with an audible eye-roll, “this isn't about _passing_ , it's about _winning_.”

“Right... and you win how?”

“By beating Keith's sorry ass across the board,” he stated, grunting as he hopped down from the mattress to view his handiwork.

There was a gay joke in there somewhere. Hunk was sure of it.

He let it go.

 

* * *

 

Hunk was a godsend.

Lance's attention span in class was improving, but remembering to take notes was still a herculean effort. _A work in progress_ , Lance said every time Hunk berated him for missing an essential point in his notes from the lectures they shared. It was a shame this only included a few classes, as Lance mourned at least once a day over text.

**miss u already dude :'(**

**pay attention man, class is starting**

**:'((((**

**do you wanna beat keith or not?**

** >:| mullet brain is going down!**

Lance slid his phone in his pocket right as Iverson entered the room, folders in hand and a newcomer in tow. The syllabus mentioned having a guest speaker every now and then, but since the who’s and when’s remained to be decided at the time the piece of paper was handed out, Lance hadn’t paid much attention to that sentence in the curriculum.

If he knew his hero, Garrison poster-boy Takashi Shirogane, was going to visit their class, he would have honest-to-god fought for a front row seat instead of accepting the tenth row he actually occupied.

Picking up his jaw as gracefully as he could, he attempted to appear as casual as possible, all the while preparing to take as many notes as his hand allowed and itching to text Hunk _dude holy crow you will not believe who just waltzed into my class_.

The class was abuzz as Iverson organized his papers at the podium, sharing a few murmurs with their guest, who glanced across the students before catching, pausing, and smiling. Lance’s curiosity overwhelmed him as he followed his hero’s gaze to see who the hell he knew in his class—maybe he could befriend them? Maybe—

Maybe not. The student smiling back was none other than Keith Kogane, seated in the third row several columns over, completely oblivious to the blazing emotions searing Lance’s heart as he tried to process the fact that his bitter rival of over a month now was friendly with his _hero_ who was arguably the largest reason he applied to the Garrison in the first place.

It hurt. It stung. It felt like he lost again before even having a chance to compete.

But Takashi Shirogane was still there, and Lance was still going to hear him talk to their class—directly and personally—about… what, again?

“Quiet!” Iverson yelled, abruptly shushing the chatter before continuing. “We have a guest speaker with us today, Takashi Shirogane, who I’m sure you’re all familiar with. He graduated at the top of his class and was recently selected for the Kerberos mission, which will be launching later this year.”

Stepping away from the podium, Iverson gestured for their guest to approach.

Clearing his throat as he reached the podium, Lance’s hero nodded to Iverson, beginning, “Thank you, sir, for the introduction. As he said, my name is Takashi Shirogane, but please, call me Shiro...”

 

* * *

 

“I can't believe he knows _Shiro!_ ” Lance bemoaned, burying his face in the tangled mess of his arms on the cafeteria table. “ _Shiro!_ As in 'Takashi Shirogane' _Shiro!_ ”

Hunk sighed, setting down his fork like the good friend he was and reaching over to pat Lance's shoulder. A few questioning looks were sent their way, but Hunk ignored them with ease.

“There, there...” he tried.

Lance carried on his tirade into the junction between his flesh and the table. Hunk couldn't make any of it out, which was probably fine. One good thing about being roommates was that if Lance wasn't tired of a subject, Hunk would definitely hear about it at some point or another in the comfort of their dorm. And given that Lance never tired of complaining about Keith, Hunk was all too aware that Lance would repeat himself later.

Lifting his head, Lance said, “Hunk, give it to me straight, man... Am I pathetic?”

Hunk, taken aback by the downward spiral he apparently missed in Lance's arms, replied, “You're hungry, dude. You haven't even touched your stromboli.”

Lance nodded, heaving a heavy sigh as he picked up his fork. “At least astronomy is next...”

“I thought you said, and I quote, 'hated any and all math?'”

“Well, yeah,” Lance managed through a mouthful of stromboli. “But Brittany's there.”

“Oh, right. Think she knows your name yet?” Hunk asked in all sincerity.

The dramatic glint in his eye gave Lance away as he theatrically announced, “She will today! _I_ have a plan.”

“What's that?”

“I finished my homework.”

Hunk found himself so unimpressed that he actually lowered his next bite of stromboli from his mouth as he delivered a look flatter than Kansas.

Gleam still in his eye, Lance elaborated, “Brittany sits right in front of me, right? So when we turn our homework in by passing it to the front, all I have to do is place my worksheet on top when I pass it up. She'll see my name on top before passing the stack along. It's both subtle _and_ shows I'm a responsible student who gets my work done without being a nerd. I know, I'm brilliant—I'll let ya soak it in.”

The stromboli fell from Hunk's fork.

“What do you think?” Lance asked, finally eagerly chowing down on his lunch as he waited for a response.

What did he think? He could instantly point out a number of flaws in Lance's plan. _How will she know you put your worksheet on top? Who's to say she'll look at the name in the first place? And why would she care to look if she doesn't have any interest in you to begin with?_

But Lance was back to his showy self. And Hunk didn't want to take that away from him after his severe mood drop from discovering Keith knew his hero personally. Plus, if this was what it took to convince Lance to complete his homework, who was Hunk to take that away from him?

“It's foolproof.”

 

* * *

 

Playing _Killbot Phantasm 3_ into the wee hours of the morning was probably a bad idea, Lance realized as his cheek pressed against the cool, smooth surface of the table.

“C’mon, man, wake up...” Hunk said, poking Lance’s forehead with his pencil.

“Just resting my eyes,” Lance grumbled, blindly batting at it with his hand.

“We’ve got Mr. York first period—you need to finish the study guide!”

Slowly, Lance lifted his head from the table with a groan. Hunk hustled him to the library bright and early with smuggled energy drinks in tow, but as far as Lance was concerned? All the caffeine in the world couldn’t make studying algorithms interesting. Especially at seven o’clock in the morning.

“You wanna beat Keith, right?” Hunk urged.

“It’s just so _boring_ ,” Lance whined, eyes glossing over the instant they saw the equations on the page.

“Okay, but were you paying attention during that joke about the ghost learning symbolic logic and innumerably infinite sets?”

Raising an eyebrow, Lance asked, “You mean the one with the bad pun?”

Hunk paused, then continued, “Well, yeah, there’s some wordplay, but it’s more complex than that. So the joke goes—“

Lance groaned with the resignation of a man on death row.

_I hate being a nerd._

 

* * *

 

Releasing a small sigh, Lance gazed. _Pretty..._ he thought, helplessly staring at the soft crest of painted eyelashes against the swell of high cheekbones. The individual shadows of the lashes were so delicate, the curves so graceful...

“—ou need something, Lance?”

Blinking back to the present, he realized Jenny was waiting, an expectant eyebrow arched in his direction. He caught her at the water fountain right as she was stopping to drink, but now she was done and he was simply staring like an awkward dork.

Ignoring the blood rushing to his cheeks, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and strapped on his most charming smile.

“Yeah, are you a camera? Cause every time you look at me, I smile,” he said with a wink.

Jenny giggled, flipping her high ponytail over her other shoulder.

Encouraged, he continued, “I mean, I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together.”

“Funny, Lance,” she commented. His heart warmed on the spot.

“Yeah, I’m hilarious,” he agreed easily, dramatically making a show of admiring his fingernails.

“Mhm, if only you weren’t such a joke in class.”

Lance stumbled, smile dropping in surprise.

He started, “Er, that’s—“

“Something to think about,” she said with a smile, as if she was offeringinvaluable advice.

Before he could formulate a response, she was gone, her ponytail swinging side to side as she disappeared down the hall. The warmth in his chest went cold. Rubbing the back of his neck, Lance stooped to drink from the fountain. His throat felt tight—maybe some water would provide relief.

 

* * *

 

Lance could not sit still, fingers tapping and knees shaking in excitement as they waited for the student body to be fully seated in the large auditorium. Six thirty in the morning was awful early for the entire school to assemble, but multiple memos had been delivered the whole week prior—meaning everyone had plenty of time to prepare their coffeemakers and adjust their sleeping habits accordingly.

A surprisingly large portion of the school found they didn't even need the extra sleep or caffeine, given the adrenaline incessantly tapping at their nerves. The odd person here or there would complain about the hour, but overall the atmosphere was animated as students took their seats and idly chit-chatted, filling the auditorium with a hushed static. Normally, they'd be chastised for talking so much, but when Lance looked around, he saw even the instructors were helplessly engaging in conversation at every turn.

It wasn't until the next class began seating that he realized someone was missing. He squinted at the surrounding rows to make sure, but that distinctive haircut was nowhere to be found.

Keith Kogane wasn't there.

His stomach twisted the tiniest bit at his confusion, but he didn't have time to dwell on it as Hunk nudged him with an elbow, directing his gaze to the stage where several of the school's administrators gathered, Iverson included.

“How much sleep do you think Iverson got?” Hunk asked.

“I dunno, but he looks like shit,” Lance answered with a snort. “Two, if he's lucky.”

The lights over the audience dimmed as all students—save one—were accounted for. The administrators took the stage. Iverson stepped forward to the podium as the others formed a line behind him, standing at parade rest with their hands behind their backs.

“All rise,” Iverson grunted into the mic. Once everyone was standing, he ordered, “Color guard, present the colors.”

Lance went through the motion of saluting as the flags were carried onto the stage, his other hand tapping fingers against his thigh as he waited for the customary protocol to end. He was proud to be attending the Garrison—it had the best flying program in the western hemisphere—but damn, he wished it wasn't a military academy.

Soon enough, they were seated again and Iverson stepped away from the podium as another administrator came forward. The harsh spotlight cast strong shadows, emphasizing the lines on her face that ensured no nonsense would be tolerated. She introduced herself as the lead communications officer between the bases in Texas and Florida before delving into how proud they are of the project and the academy and its students and blah blah blah. They were proud of the project leaders and their crews and the selected team and _blah blah blah_.

Giving credit where credit was due was important—Lance wouldn't deny that, but at nearly seven in the morning, a speaker also needed to consider their audience because this one was about to fall back asleep. Lance leaned to the side, resting his head against the swell of Hunk's shoulder.

“Wake me up when it gets good,” Lance mumbled, eyes already at half-mast.

“Can't if I fall asleep first,” Hunk replied.

“Huuuuunk,” Lance whined, “I kept an eye out for you at the last assembly.”

“And I've woken you up how many times in class since then?”

Lance's face scrunched up as he tried to recall an exact number; whatever it was, it wasn't in his favor.

“Class lectures and assembly lectures are different,” he muttered.

“Pretty sure you still owe me, dude.”

“With that,” the speaker continued, “We will proceed to watch the official newscast as the crew prepares to launch for Kerberos.”

A large screen lowered from the ceiling as the adults vacated the stage, taking seats in the front row as the screen came to life with the live broadcast. The sun was shining brightly at the launch site in Florida—not a cloud in the sky. The news crew flashed between showcasing the growing crowds, clips of both current and previously recorded interviews, and several cameras stationed around the base to capture the hustle and bustle of scientists preparing to launch a small exploration team out to the edge of the solar system.

Little tidbits about the Florida base cropped up as the broadcast continued. Lance and Hunk were unsurprised to learn the station had a cafe on site, but they did find themselves shocked to realize the cafe had not closed once in the last three days. The camera panned over the constant line at the counter, the reporter nodding to the baristas as the unsung heroes of event, whose dark circles rivaled those under the eyes of their customers.

Despite everyone's varying degrees of visible exhaustion on screen, the supercharged excitement infested every one of them, manic grins at the ready for any interaction.

“We'll now touch base with the explorers' families,” the reporter declared before the camera swung left, revealing a middle-aged woman with a young girl at her side. Given their similar hair and skin coloration, Lance was betting on a mother and daughter.

A tag line appeared at the bottom of the screen confirming Lance's suspicion, identifying them as Colleen and Katie Holt—family of two of the Kerberos team, Dr. Samuel and Matt Holt.

“Whoa, smart family,” Hunk muttered. Lance murmured in agreement, propping up his chin in his palm as he leaned on the armrest.

“Well, you know what they say—like father, like son,” Colleen chuckled. “But Katie won't be far behind,” she added, her daughter smiling at the acknowledgment.

“Will you also be attending the Garrison, little lady?”

“You bet I am!” she replied, bright eyes shining as the wind whipped her long hair behind her.

The reporter laughed, commenting, “It seems the Holt family has plenty more in store for the world! Thank you both so much for your time—our nation looks forward to supporting your family near and far.”

The camera held the shot of their smiling faces for a moment before spinning to address the next interviewee.

Without an ounce of grace, Lance dropped his hand from his chin as the new face came into focus.

“—ame is Keith Kogane—”

“ _Hold the phone!_ ” Lance squawked, instantly drawing a dozen glares as he nearly fell out of his seat.

Hunk pulled him back, waving with an apologetic smile to the other students before returning his attention to Lance with a hiss, “Pick up your jaw already, dude. You already knew they know each other—is it really that surprising?”

On the screen, Keith said, “His family is overseas and they couldn't get their passports together in time, so that's why I'm here.” He shifted his weight, eyes only glancing at the camera.

Lance rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in a loud huff as he sunk into his seat. _Didn't anyone tell Kogane how to act in front of a camera? What a waste._

The reporter continued, “Are you also attending the Galaxy Garrison?”

“Yes, I’m a cadet fighter pilot,” he answered stiffly.

“That’s a very selective program—congratulations! I’m sure the world can’t wait to see where both you and Shirogane fly off to next when he returns.”

The camera centered back on the interviewer, but Keith remained on the side of the shot, a small smile tucking into his cheek. Lance scoffed, scowling at how damn tender Keith looked in that moment. _As if he has any right to look so pleased. As if the reporter has any say in future missions. As if_ _being on TV makes him any better than me._

Just as the interviewer wrapped up his segment, the wind picked up and Keith’s mullet was blown into his face.

Lance snickered, taking his little victories where he could and ignoring the curdling jealousy in his heart.

 

* * *

 

A care package arrived in the mail a few weeks after the launch. Inside the thoroughly taped shut box were several letters held together by a rubber band, some spices Lance immediately tossed to Hunk, a few skincare products, a couple bottles of cologne, and a pocket-sized Bible—all packaged between wads of crumpled newspaper.

He grimaced at the Bible—he’d hoped _abuelita_ hadn’t noticed him “forget” it. Sighing in resignation, he stuck it in his desk drawer for the time being.

The hygiene products he set aside, eager to try them out later, leaving him with the stack of handwritten letters. The rubber band was stretched so thin, he was surprised it remained intact, but it broke with a loud snap when he stuck a thumb between it and the paper.

Multiple family members chipped in, it seemed. His parents, siblings, nephew, grandparents, aunts and uncles... They all had something to say.

_Lancey Lance! We miss you!_

_We wanted to mail your surfboard, but ma said it wouldn’t fit._

_It’s been raining nonstop this month like you wouldn’t believe!_

_Pa wouldn’t shut up during the Kerberos_ _launch_ _—“My son is next!” and all that._

_Remember to video call!_

_Are you going to space? It looks dark up there, so bring a flashlight._

_Have you been eating well?_

_Do you have a girlfriend yet?_

_We’re so proud of you!_

Lance couldn’t stop the smile from curling up on his face at their love and support.

Nor could he stop the guilt sinking in his heart as he remembered he hadn’t told them he was a cargo pilot. He wouldn’t be the fighter pilot he dreamed of being—exploring the universe and discovering amazing advancements for mankind—he would simply be carting supplies from one earthbound location to another.

But if he succeeded at the second flight test, he wouldn’t need to tell them at all.

_Not if—when_ , he thought to himself, reaching for his homework with newfound resolution.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated! <3


End file.
